Concentric circles form in the palms of your hands. Targets for the nails to be hammered in. Martyrdom akin to palindromes. Madam I’m Adam. Sleeping late to become part of the progress. I am shellfish, I am slaveskin. I am burnt sienna in a college-boy’s noose.
Where your hips lie, my words failed you. I spoke too soon with gunshy lips. A splendid expanse of flesh. A shit-eating grin of panic attack and cocksucking. Turning tricks across countries. Your body, two continents forming to break apart Pangaea.
I narrowed my eyes without thinking. A bruise on my cheeks for my insolence. This can wait until morning, when I have clear eyes and a clear head to figure out how to get out. Firehouse prose. When we are forced to choose the ones who love us more. When we are forced to split the loci of control. A summer panic.